Her name is MarÃÂa, she is a grandmother with nine grandchildren
Without a diploma, without a penny, she won the heart of a town
Without knowing her parents, without hugging her brothers
When she was a child she was abandoned and fell into the wrong hands
On a steel bed she dreamed of the verses
That she read every night in the stories of the Testament
Like a mare without reins they wanted to tame her
Without thinking that this spirit had to fly
I am Alma of the street
I am only what I am
My refuge is my verses, the rhythm of the street
It is the beat of my heart
I am Soul of the street
This is my life, this is me, I am Soul of the street
br/>I am the voice that escaped
I am the girl who grew up in the soul of the street
Life dealt her blows and she gave life to her daughters
br/>With his love he taught them to be strong and united
In the mornings he worked in front of a cultural center
And at night he escaped and spoke with his muse
br/>With nothing but faith in his pocket he floated in emotion
Not knowing that his poetry was going to give him such an ovation
I am Alma de la calle
Humble and simple she tells us her thoughts
With her stained fingers and fatigue in her bones
Our Mary lives in misery, our Mary is a poet
Our Mary shines boots sitting in her wooden box
Like a mirror her words make us appreciate
That there is beauty in everything and we are all the same